Exsanguination
by Prinzessin Kiwi
Summary: Molly Hooper keeps a lot of secrets.


___**Title: Exsanguination **_

**__****Author: Prinzeßin ****__****Eilís**

___**Original Programme: Sherlock (BBC)**_

___**Type(s): Cannon-Divergent, One-Off**_

**____****Genre(s): Dark**_****__**, Romance**_

**__****Content Rating: M/X**

_****__**Summary:**_**__****Molly Hooper keeps a lot of secrets.**

___**A/N: I didn't actually WANT to write this, but it was inside me begging to be written. I had to get it out.**_

**__****Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC, Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss, and Arthur Conan Doyle. -Eil****__****ís**

Molly writhed against the dampening sheets, her wrists chafing painfully against the harsh metal handcuffs binding her to the headboard. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, mouth open wide, her mind beyond speech and comprehension. There was pain, there was ecstasy, and there was Jim. She arched her back on a hoarse scream.

Jim grinned, dragging the knife-blade across her inner thigh with his right hand, eyes flicking back and forth between the blossoming strip of red that was dripping down between her legs and the excruciating pain/pleasure in the woman's face. His left hand, three fingers buried knuckle deep inside her curved up to rub hard circles into her engorged G-spot, causing her to buck her hips and nearly nick herself on the knife still pressed against her flesh.

The Irishman licked up the blood on her thigh, revelling in the sharp metallic taste on his tongue before leaning forward and capturing her clit between his lips, mixing the heady flavours: blood, sweat, sex, Molly. He moaned, reaching underneath her to pull her hips into his mouth.

Jim roughly pulled his fingers out, grasping instead her left thigh, already stained from the three shallow cuts he'd placed there. His fingers dug into her flesh, reopening the barely-healing wounds, as his other arm moved around her hip to hold her close as he set his mouth onto her dripping cunt, plunging his tongue inside.

Molly pulled on the binds around her ankles to no avail, though she longed to wrap her legs around her lover's head. The pain was blurring beautifully with desperate arousal and she needed more; of which, she wasn't entirely sure.

"_Jim!_ J-Jim, please! _Please_. I – I – I need – need..." the woman babbled incoherently, rocking her lower body into Moriarty's clever tongue.

"'Please' what, Molly?" Jim asked, sharp eyes boring up into her blushing face, thumb rubbing her clit absently while he waited.

Molly bit her lip and keened, chest heaving. "Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, Jim, please, please, please Jim – _fuck_! Jim, _please_!"

Moriarty groaned in pleasure, the sound of her begging making him impossibly harder, and he happily climbed up her body, hands smearing blood on her soft, white tummy. He paused, sucking on one hardened nipple, grinding it briefly between his teeth, making the woman beneath him let out a breathy whimper. Smirking, he ripped open a condom packet and rolled the rubber onto his weeping dick, then proceeded to lick and kiss his way up her chest and throat, lips and teeth leaving bruises and bite marks along the way. Finally, he reached her mouth and claimed it with his own, Molly moaning deeply at the taste of herself on his tongue. Flicking the slippery appendage against the roof of her mouth, Jim positioned herself at her entrance and in one smooth motion, pushed himself into her.

Molly ripped her head away, tossing her head back on a satisfied moan, the sound ending in a high-pitched squeal as Jim fucked her in a brutal, punishing rhythm. Arms and legs still bound and spread, she had no leverage to control the angle, and she tossed her head back and forth on her pillow, body arching for more contact, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.

Jim pressed his face into her neck, breathing deeply as he tried to draw out their pleasure. He snapped his hips forward, thrusting fast and hard, but with Molly prone the way she was, even flush against her pelvis, he couldn't reach the places that she needed, leaving her wanting and unfulfilled.

The pathologist sobbed and begged, writhing and rocking her hips as well as she could, and Jim decided to take pity on her.

Without warning, Jim pulled out of her. Molly's eyes flew open in a panic. "Jim! Wh-?" The criminal silenced her with a kiss.

"Hush now, Darling, Daddy's going to take care of you."

Jim reached his body over the woman's finding the key to the handcuffs on the side table. Deft fingers unlocked the cuffs on each foot, rubbing his fingers against the raw skin of her ankles before crawling back up to straddle her chest.

The man kneeled over her, right hand lightly following the trail of blood down her wrists with the handcuff-key. "Do you want me to uncuff you, Molly?" he asked.

Molly mewled quietly. "Yes, please," she whispered and Jim smiled, all teeth.

"Show me how much you want it, Baby," he commanded, left hand tracing the head of his latex covered cock against her lower lip, spreading her own juices against her mouth. The woman groaned and craned her neck to take him into her mouth.

Jim carded his fingers through her hair, fucking her throat slowly, loving the feel of her tongue wrapping around his shaft, licking him clean. After half a minute, he pulled out stroking her face and finally freed her wrists. He brought each angry, red wrist to his lips and kissed along the broken skin before rolling to the side to kiss Molly on the cheek.

"C'mere baby," he murmured, settling onto his back, tugging her by the hand.

Molly nodded eagerly, ignoring the stinging of her wrists and thighs as she moved to straddle his cock. Molly wasted no time in lining herself up and bearing down onto him, giving a deep groan as she took him in deep to where she needed it.

Hands braced on his chest, Molly squeezed him between her thighs as she drew herself up and dropped back down, fucking herself on Moriarty's hard prick. Her head dropped so her chin nearly touched her chest as she ground herself down onto him, Jim's fingers digging into her ass to leave bruises. His guiding hands quickly brought the pace back up to the fast tempo it had been before. Molly was silent but for a few quiet squeaks, her voice hoarse from earlier screaming. She could feel the tension low in her stomach and she panted as she fought to bring herself to completion.

Jim watched her ride his cock, tits bouncing with the effort and he groaned quietly, digging his nails into her ass. Gods, but she was beautiful. Flushed pink from exertion, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, drops trailing down her temples and between her perky breasts. Her neck and chest were covered in red and purpling bruises and love-bites, and her wrists were smearing blood on his stomach as her thighs did the same to his hips. She looked absolutely wrecked, and the glazed, desperate look in her eyes made it all the better because he knew she loved it. He could feel his loins tightening and his balls draw up towards his body and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"Come for me, Molls," he ordered, and she nodded, barely breathing a quiet "mhm". Molly leaned back, finding the right angle to rub both her clit and her G-spot. For a moment the girl forgot to breathe as suddenly the tension snapped, and Molly threw her head back, mouth open in a silent scream.

Moriarty groaned low in his throat at the sight of Molly coming apart at the seams, the sight nearly biblical in its reverent agony. With a few more upward thrusts, Jim was coming, eyes closing in relief.

Exhausted, Molly slumped forward onto Jim's chest causing him to slip out of her. Jim pursed his lips at the feeling, but Molly was too dazed to protest. Sighing, the Irishman stroked her hair, and rand his hand down her back, allowing her to lie with him for a while.

After a few minutes, Molly's breathing had deepened, and he was forced to roll her off of him before she fell asleep. Jim only chuckled at her groan of displeasure. Chucking the condom in the trash, Jim fetched a damp flannel and the first-aid kit before returning to the bed. Molly, too tired to help, allowed Jim to clean her up a bit and tend to her wounds.

Somehow, Moriarty got the sheets stripped and the bed remade and finally allowed Molly to curl back into bed. Knowing he would be gone in the morning, Molly lay her head on his chest and spooned herself into his side. Jim allowed it and a small, indulgent smile graced his lips

He knew Molly would pitch the ruined sheets and cover up her bruises and scars with layers of cotton and wool, and in spite of her lingering crush and loyalty for the posh detective, would never breathe a word of him. Just like always, Molly would keep their secrets on her skin for his eyes only. As he drifted off to sleep, Moriarty wondered if this fond affection and possessive desire might count as love, in his own way. He thinks that Molly might love him too. To think that such a sweet, pure angel like Molly might love a demon like him seems oddly poetic, and he wonders if the warmth in his chest might be Molly's way of cutting and slashing her love into his soul the way he poured his into her flesh.

He fell asleep thinking that if he could rule in Hell, he'd like Molly to be his queen.


End file.
